


The Cajun Society Of New York

by apocryphile



Category: The Newsroom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 15:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphile/pseuds/apocryphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcoming Aaron Sorkin's (IMHO wonderful) new show The Newsroom to the wonderful world of online fandom with a quick post-pilot hit that adds a couple more old reliable Sorkin tropes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cajun Society Of New York

“Do you guys own tuxes?”

“No,” Jim and Neal answered together. They’d been doing that a lot, and it was… disconcerting. They glanced at each other and then looked quickly away again, like when a stranger catches you staring on the subway. 

“I write his blog, and this is my first job,” Neal explained.

“And I’ve just been in a war zone for two years,” added Jim.

MacKenzie rolled her eyes. 

“I’m taking you both shopping. Maggie, you’re coming too.”

The young associate producer pinked.

“It’s OK, I have a tux… I mean a dress. Dresses.”

“Yes, but you don’t have THE dress. Or anywhere near enough shoes.” The EP started walking, beckoning absently, clearly expecting them all to follow.

Maggie looked at her feet in dismay. Realising no one was coming after her, Mack stopped and walked back.

“Maggie, I mean no one ever has enough shoes, not that there’s anything wrong with yours. And we don’t have much time, come on!”

This time the look Neal and Jim exchanged was deliberate.

“Not much time before what?”

“Oh!” She laughed, shaking her head a little at her own oversight. “We’re being honoured at a dinner. The… Cajun Society of New York. Or something. For drawing attention to the oil spill.”

“Don’t you mean Will is?”

“You seriously think Will’s going to show up to something like that? Come on, Emeril’s cooking, it’ll be fun.”

Neal jumped to his feet at the mention of the famous chef. Maggie leaned forward as though about to stand, but cast an anxious glance in the direction of Don’s new desk, visible in the next room through the glass. Jim did nothing, watching her. 

"Tonight? Isn’t that kind of short notice for an event like this?”

Mack’s face twisted indecisively, unsure whether to respond truthfully, but Jim titled his head, as if to say, “c’mon”.

“There was some… disagreement over whether to invite—“

Just then, Will’s office door flew open.

“Have you all fallen down and hit your heads? Does anyone work here who can, I don’t know, count? I need numbers!”

Jim turned to look at him and then spun back to face Maggie, a sardonic look on his face.

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Anyway, he’s not going, and he’ll find the email with the numbers in just a second, and it’s Saturday and it’s cocktails and incredible food and a good cause and fabulous people who think we’re more fabulous than they are.”

Maggie brightened and nodded. “That does sound like fun.”

Jim stood, slowly, eyeing his boss suspiciously. He shut down his computer and picked up his jacket.

“Mack?”

She gave him her winningest smile.

“Yes, Jim?”

“Are you by any chance trying to find someone to date who is the most likely to piss Will off so much he gets in a fight with you about it?”

“Why on earth would I want to do that, James?” She made his full name heavy with warning but he ignored her.

“Because he didn’t even mention the option of firing you yesterday and you were clearly gearing up for a big bust up, I mean huge, and so now you’re blowing, what-“ he looked around the three of them, “three grand in Bloomingdales to kit us out as your wing men?”

She stuck her nose in the air and set off and he followed, not entirely adverse to the plan but determined to get her to admit to it.

“Did we even get invited to this thing or did you pay for a table?”

“Oh, I’m not paying for our table.” She gave a malicious little grimace. “He is.”

\-----

Three hours, and less than three thousand dollars (but not considerably less) later, Maggie was trying to stop Mack from doing her hair for her while remaining as polite and deferential as possible. Jim felt like he was about to shake either one or both of them, so he stepped out into the hallway and found Neal eyeing his reflection nervously in the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

“You alright, man?”

“Yeah, I just, I’ve never…”

Jim considered brazening it out but he didn’t see why he needed to, really.

“Yeah, I didn’t either. I looked it up on Youtube.”

Neal laughed.

“That’s a good idea, I should…”

“It’s OK, here.”

Jim stepped forward and picked up the loose ends of Neal’s black silk bowtie, crumpled after several failed attempts to knot it. Trying to remember the steps from the video he tugged and twisted and surprised himself by doing a creditable job. The thing to do seemed to be to pat the other man on the shoulder, so he did that.

“Did you two want to be alone?”

Mack was grinning delightedly in the open doorway, radiant in a staggeringly expensive cocktail dress, backlit by the office spotlights, Maggie hovering like a post-modern lady in waiting. She walked up to Neal and cast a critical eye over his neckwear.

“Good.” She sounded surprised, but Jim wasn’t listening. Maggie had stepped into full view, freshly dressed in the outfit she’d only eventually accepted when MacKenzie suggested that it be merely a loan for the evening. 

“I… wow.”

She blushed and looked down. Mack squealed and Jim shot her a filthy look.

“Comrades!”

Dressed in a tux that could only be custom made, Charlie came barrelling down the hallway towards them. Neal suddenly looked hesitant.

“Mr Skinner’s coming?,” he stage whispered to Mack.

“Everyone calls me Charlie, son,” he boomed, “and I was promised the best shrimp in the world and a dance with this one.”

Mack leaned in and kissed him on the cheek and then took his arm. As they started towards the elevator, Maggie looked anxiously back towards Will’s office.

“Shouldn’t we at least ask him again?”

Charlie chuckled.

“Will will get over himself in time to join us for dessert and some damn fine bourbon.”

Neal still looked nervous.

“Is that when he’s going to find out he’s paying for this?”

Mack turned and smiled reassuringly.

“He’s nice to people he doesn’t know, remember? He’ll be perfectly charming.”

“Unless anyone asks any silly questions about America,” deadpanned Charlie. 

Laughing, they set off to the party.


End file.
